Just Business

Felix wore an oversized cloak that covered his chainmail shirt and small iron helmet carefully. His sword was sheathed against his waist; cleverly concealed beneath a layer of cloth, ready to be grasped at a moment’s notice. Secrecy was vital for the mission he was on and he knew better than most the danger of being found out. This wasn’t in any way the riskiest mission he had ever commanded but it was certainly the most important he had ever been asked to be responsible for. Behind him walked four other guards dressed much like him, and between them hidden under a gentle green cloak walked the princess of their proud land. The large hood of the cloak shadowed her face while locks of her gorgeous blonde hair cautiously peeked out. Her life and safety was in Felix’s hands, and the hands of the soldiers who traveled with him.

 

War had been brewing in their fair kingdom for quite some time and the king wanted his daughter as far from the center of conflict as he could get her. She was the king’s only child, born seventeen years and six months ago to proud parents who were not yet rulers. Her mother died when she was four, and soon after her grandparents succumbed to illness, leaving her father to rule the land. Ever since her father had taken special care to protect her, and now was no exception. Felix and his men were to take her to a nearby village where she might safely wait out the impending bloodshed. In case enemy spies wandered the roads all had been armored and dressed in farmer’s clothes to disguise their importance to any that might glance their way.

 

Despite the urgency of the mission Felix found his mind wandering greatly. The field they were now passing through was lovely, with wildflowers on the ground and young blossoms covering the trees. A hill sloped up to his right into the sparse forest ahead while to his left the land rolled again before flowing down to the sea. A faint smell of salt air drifted up on the sun’s afternoon reflection and Felix thought of how much his wife would love it. The village was a three-day’s journey by foot, and though they had only been gone for two Felix missed his family already. He knew well that war would mean battle and battle death. If these were his last days he wished to spend them with the ones he loved.

 

“Lorcan, over there.” Felix instructed the youngest member of the group to stay to his right. “Edmund here.” He pointed to his left. “Achan and Hector stay to the rear. The paths through the woods here are more traveled than most we have encountered so far. Remember if anyone asks we are simple peasants returning from delivering a shipment of fruits and vegetables to His Majesty.”

 

Achan nodded solemnly and Hector shifted his cloak uncomfortably. Both slowed slightly falling just behind the princess before locking back into pace. Felix pulled his hood down tighter and shook his shoulders. They hadn’t encountered another traveler for hours and though they couldn’t have wished for anything better it was making him tremendously nervous. He wrung his hands anxiously in front of him considering the possibilities.

 

As they entered through the edge of the trees a bird chirped pleasantly. Felix smiled. The foliage was lush and broad, full of life. Sunlight trickled through the branches to bask on his face. Feet crunched on fallen branches in the forest. A glimpse of the ocean appeared to the left while on the right the hill began to slope back down as the forest grew thicker. A breeze ruffled the folds on Felix’s cloak. He breathed in the air deeply and rubbed his fingers together. The smell of flowers filled his nose. A familiar whistling could be heard, and something caught his eye.

 

“We’re under attack!” Felix cried. He hobbled forward, blood spilling from his leg where the backend of an arrow jutted out awkwardly. The rest of his companions froze, staring at their wounded leader with shocked expressions covering their veiled faces. Three more arrows rained down at their feet.

 

“Well don’t just stand there looking like jackasses!” Felix pulled his hood back off his rough black hair and drew his sword. “Get her out of here!”

 

Hector rushed over to the princess and grabbed her hand, pulling her back down the path they had come in on. Achan drew his sword and followed behind. Lorcan wavered, unsure of what to do, then raced after the others. Edmund stepped forward to steady Felix but found himself pushed away.

 

“Go damn you!” Felix grimaced, his weight squeezing on his wound. He held his sword with both hands in front of him and breathed deeply. “We must protect-“

 

An arrow struck straight in the center of Felix’s throat, silencing his final words. He stood momentarily, stunned by the sudden blow before dropping to his knees and sprawling across the dirt path they had traveled on. Edmund’s face twisted in horror. He picked Felix’s sword up from the ground before drawing his own and began to run after the princess and his companions. Looking ahead he saw rogues coming out from all directions in the forest, blocking the princess’ escape. Most of the villains were dressed in cheap padded armor, wielding crooked knives and clubs. Edmund’s companions had circled around the princess with weapons drawn, hoping to defend her.

 

An arrow whizzed past Edmund’s ear. He spun around startled, eyes wide with fear. Through the trees there seemed to be a glint of metal armor, though he wasn’t sure. A second arrow flew dangerously close to his face, deflecting off the top of his helmet. Out of the woods before him three or four armed men suddenly charged; Edmund didn’t have time to count. He swung both blades out slashing through one’s armor and causing blood to drip from another. A second swing earned a terrific shriek as Felix’s sword embedded itself in someone’s arm. Edmund let the blade fall with its victim and swung his own sword valiantly, drawing even more blood before a large club smashed heavily onto his head.

 

Edmund reeled back from the blow feeling dazed and horribly disoriented. A piercing battle cry rang in his ears as someone grabbed him from behind. His head throbbed and his vision blurred softly. A thin sharp knife slashed through the skin on his neck, severing his artery. The forest seemed red before his eyes falling quickly, then black.

 

Joktan looked down at his victim proudly and grinned feverishly. The ambush was going just as they had planned. This would surely prove his worth on the field. “Sir Dylan will be quite pleased that-“

 

A sword cut into Joktan’s side ending his thought before coming around again and slamming into his chest. Blood rushed to his lips and trickled out onto his chin. Angry blue eyes glared briefly into his own before the sword twisted abruptly and ruptured Joktan’s heart.

 

Achan shook his sword and looked down at Edmund. His friend was dead no doubt, though there was no time to worry about it. Bandits were overrunning them, and protecting the princess was an absolute priority. He saw Hector and Lorcan fighting off four more brutes who had clubs drawn while still more came from all angles. Achan shuddered at the sight and wondered if there was a traitor in the kingdom who had given them away. These men seemed too cunning to be ordinary bandits and far too organized for this not to have been planned.

 

A dagger clinked off of Achan’s chainmail shirt causing him to spin about wildly. His sword ripped into his attacker’s shoulder, almost slicing the man’s arm clean off. As his attacker trembled in pain Achan plunged his sword into his gut. The man’s face turned from pain to shock as the sword withdrew, his body crumpling into a wretched heap on the ground.

 

Achan looked up from the attacker and tried to study the scene. Hector was only ten feet away pummeling a mustached man while Lorcan held another back with his sword. The princess had pulled a dagger from her cloak and was holding it calmly in front of her. Several bodies now covered the ground around them though more were coming including a man in a chainmail vest with a great sword. Turning back the other way Achan saw two more men charging out with daggers in hand. In the woods he spotted at least another three putting away bows and drawing melee weapons. A helmed combatant in a chainmail shirt appeared and came at Achan with his sword flying. Somehow he looked familiar.

 

Achan ducked under his opponent’s first blow while shoving the broad side of his sword hard into his opponent’s stomach. The impact brought about a large grunt from the other man who brought the hilt of his own weapon down upon Achan’s head. Achan shoved the sword back using his own but was caught off guard when his opponent threw his shoulder forward. It hit Achan hard on the chest and sent him stumbling backwards, wincing ever so slightly. Achan stepped forward and swung at the man’s legs only to have his blow deflected to the ground. A second swing for the arm ended the same. More of the other men were closing in on them now, and Achan sighed in his mind knowing that this could easily be his final battle. A loud clang on the back of his head seemed to emphasize that point.

 

Achan spun about quickly, striking down the man flanking him before turning back to face his first foe. In his brief moment of turning he saw Hector strike down the brutish man he was fighting and Lorcan raise his sword to the sky. In that moment hope crossed his mind in a dizzying whirl. Anything seemed possible. A smile crossed his lips for victory seemed close at hand. They could win this. Then suddenly crashing through his fantasy came a blow that nearly ripped his hand clean off.

 

Achan barely had time to glance at his flailing appendage before his opponent’s sword was at his throat cutting through him. As Achan fell he thought one last time of home, his friends, and the princess who he feared was sure to die. The trees rolled above him, then all was gone.

 

Sharar looked over the man on the ground carefully, trying to place his face. It seemed so familiar, somehow reminding him of combat training and strawberries all at once. A name came to his lips that he did not recognize, but he asked it aloud as if it were a question that could be answered. “Achan?” Sharar shook his head hard and looked ahead. The fighters on the road were cutting down another one of his men. Their foes were far more capable than Sir Dylan had said they would be. Of the twenty-five men that had come at least fifteen were already down and five more had been wounded in some fashion or another. Even Ivan had been killed, and he was no simple soldier. Sharar was beginning to doubt that Sir Dylan was telling them everything.

 

“Well stop gawking and finish them off!” A robed figure moved next to Sharar and pointed at the three figures still left on the path. The man’s face was hidden well, but Sharar knew the voice right away.

 

“Yes Sir Dylan.” Sharar gripped his sword tightly and nodded. Rushing ahead his mind raced, hoping he could fell the last two and still have strength to keep the third from escaping. The third was supposed to be an escaped prisoner, or something of the like. Sharar didn’t have time to remember at the moment. Two more men were with Sir Dylan and three more stood behind their foes blocking any chance of escape. The fighter with the hood over his face must be the prisoner; the one who killed Ivan was facing the others and favoring his left leg while the last one stood closest looking exhausted. Sharar calculated all of this almost instantly in his mind as he closed the last few feet and swung at his tiring foe. His blade was met with that of his enemy’s and both exhaled loudly on contact.

 

“Just die already!” Sharar cursed at his opponent, raising his sword and slamming it down hard.

 

“You first.” His opponent countered his blow harshly before stepping to the side and plunging his weapon into Sharar’s calf. Sharar shouted loudly and swung, smashing his sword hard into the man’s chest. Metal clanged against metal pounding into bone but all was in vain. A second blow nearly severed his leg from his body. Sharar felt lightheaded, the world turning around him, blurring in and out of focus. He hit the ground hard and slipped into unconsciousness.

 

Lorcan’s whole body swelled and stung as he looked into the face of the man he had just stopped. Sudden recognition seeped through his brain and he realized the man on the ground was a knight that he and Achan had both trained with in Dunshire. The man’s name was Sharar; Sir Dylan, Lord of the Western Hills had recruited him to help defend the castle that guarded the northwestern parts of the kingdom. Lorcan remembered Sharar as a loyal knight known for dedication to his king and his kingdom. It didn’t make any sense that such an upstanding warrior would betray his land and turn on his people. Unless…

 

Someone else rushed towards Lorcan. The possibilities would have to wait. Lorcan turned to let his opponent’s blow slip past when he felt his back heave heavily in a cold crunching arc. His ribs pulled at the muscles on his chest as if they were ready to split in two. Hunched over Lorcan tried to swing his sword but now could barely wield it. The man’s dagger flew down unchecked and slid through the chinks of his chainmail. Lorcan flung his sword out and hit something but the dagger just sunk deeper. The man who had stabbed him collapsed on the ground nearby. Lorcan tried to laugh but could scarcely breathe. He kneeled, his body growing weaker with each passing moment. His back was wet from the knife wound and his chest was throbbing in tremendous pain. He lay on his side, too hurt to hold himself up anymore. Looking out across the way he saw Hector standing between two other men and the princess, still defending her with all his might. For all the blows Hector had taken he was still going strong.

 

“That’s why he’s the best,” Lorcan thought to himself. All around him bodies were strewn covering the grass and dirt with crimson red that soaked through like fresh spring rain. There were a great many dead, at least more than Lorcan cared to number. As Hector struck down yet another, Lorcan looked around hoping that the one remaining was the last. His eyes glimmered for a moment then faded, seeing the feet move in front of him.

 

“Is he dead?” a voice above him asked.

 

“Not quite,” another answered. “But don’t worry, he soon will be.”

 

Reaching with his left hand Lorcan grabbed a dagger that was on the ground and flung it with his last remaining strength. As he fell back from the force of his throw a scream filled the air, and the dagger in his back sunk deeper. In that brief moment Lorcan felt satisfied, as if his life had been lost for a good cause. He closed his eyes and smiled as a foot crashed down on his chest.

 

The man with the dagger in his leg pulled his foot off of the man who had wounded him and shuddered. He knew he could die from this wound. The tip of a sword came flying through his gut and he coughed, forgetting about the dagger in his leg.

 

Hector gritted his teeth and bellowed, knocking the man with the dagger in his leg ruthlessly to the dirt below. In front of him a man with a dark robe on pulled out a long sword and whispered something in the ear of a man beside him, who presently drew out a bow and took careful aim at Hector. Looking back Hector saw that there was no longer anyone blocking the princess’ escape.

 

“Run for it!” Hector let out a deep battle cry and leapt forward to engage the robed man with the sword. The sound of an arrow colliding with flesh echoed in his ears, though it didn’t seem to be his own. Metal scraped fiercely against metal while Hector and the robed man pulled mightily on their hilts trying to throw each other off balance. Their eyes locked over their grating blades and in that moment Hector recognized his foe.

 

“Sir Dylan…” An arrow whizzed past his ear. Hector pushed the man’s sword back with a terrifying grunt and thrust hard. His blow was deflected strongly, leaving his defenses down. In that moment Hector’s eyes drifted to where the princess had been and saw no one. “Good,” he thought to himself. “She got away.” His eyes flashed back to the robed man and the fight he would have to win to escape.

 

The bowman drew again and suddenly Hector saw an arrow in the corner of his eye flying towards him with lightning speed. A loud wet squishing sound followed, then a short gasp. Hector grabbed at his face, his body going into shock. As he fell he saw through his remaining eye the princess lying next to him on the ground holding something tightly in her hand. His mind registered nothing but agony as the world went dark.

 

Sir Dylan stepped carefully over Hector’s body and pulled back the princess’ hood. Her face was red, and tears rolled freely down her cheeks. Sir Dylan looked back to the bowman and smiled grimly. “Very good shot.” He looked down at the arrow sticking out of Hector’s eye and turned his head. “Or… well… shots, I guess I should say.” Sir Dylan looked out across the battlefield and noted the men dead and dying all around.

 

“Such a waste,” he sighed, standing again. He put his sword back away and turned to the bowman. “At least you made it.” Sir Dylan frowned. “Well really, what are you gaping at now?”

 

The bowman stood staring blankly ahead, a horrified expression covering his face. “That’s… that’s the princess…” he stuttered, pointing to the weeping maiden on the ground. “I… I shot the princess.” He gulped and grabbed at his neck. “The king will have my head for this…”

 

Dylan rested his hand on the bowman’s shoulder and smiled gently. “Nonsense. How shall he ever do that? I shall soon be king, and none shall ever be the wiser. Bandits slew this poor lot.” He gestured widely to those on the ground. “Bandits led by the renegade knight Sharar who I was fortunate enough to stop before he did me harm. Alas…” He pulled his sword back out. “I was not able to save the young princess.”

 

The bowman stepped back, pushing Dylan’s hand off of his shoulder. “How… how can you even say that? This was your doing!”

 

“Now my dear man.” Dylan stepped forward. “You are getting a bit upset here.” He looked deep into the bowman’s eyes then to the girl on the ground. “My brother’s rule is failing! We must have a new king.”

 

“No!” the bowman shouted defiantly. “No, this is not right. You call for treason, and I cannot allow it.” He pulled an arrow from his quiver.

 

“Pity.” Sir Dylan leaned forward and drew his blade, shoving it through the bowman’s stomach, severing his spine. He turned the blade slowly around, scraping against nerves and bone before jerking it out and letting the bowman sink to the ground. Sir Dylan shook his head, and wiping his blade on his robe whispered to no one in particular. “Such a waste.” He then turned to the princess who was sitting silently on the ground, holding her wounded shoulder.

 

“So it was you uncle.” The princess spoke quietly, her eyes still damp from her tears. “Father was right not to trust you.”

 

“I’m afraid so my dear.” Dylan crouched down next to the girl, drawing his sword as he did. “He never should have let me live.” Dylan looked at his niece’s beautiful face still young and vibrant behind her pain and fear. For a moment it seemed he even might have felt a hint of sympathy.

 

“Why uncle?” The princess searched her uncle’s eyes for some semblance of reason or understanding. “Why are you doing this?”

 

Dylan thought for a moment before drawing a very deep breath. “Well I have always been the black sheep in this family, so to speak…” His words trailed off as he rubbed his face anxiously. “No, you know that tired phrase hardly does this justice. God knows you deserve better, young as you are…” He sighed. “I’m afraid…” He paused, his eyes dancing, mouth open, searching for the words that would explain it all. At last he licked his lips decidedly and leaned in towards the girl. “It is just business…” He stroked her hair tenderly. “Just business.”

 

“ I see.” The princess’ body swung sharply, shaking with force. Sir Dylan gasped, though it was far too late. His sword dropped from his hands, thudding softly on the ground. His mouth opened to speak, though this time no words came out.

 

“Sorry uncle.” The princess ripped the dagger from her uncle’s chest and watched as his face rippled. “As you said… it is just business.” She smiled grimly, though the victory felt hollow. Slowly her uncle’s body stretched out on the path, his eyes still open staring out at the world, his arms reaching out expectantly as if the kingdom still awaited for his triumphant return from battle.

 

The princess stood solemnly and dropped the dagger, hating the deed she had done. She took one last look at the carnage strewn all over the forest path and shuddered, horrified at all she saw. Slowly she walked away back down the old dirt road until she disappeared into the forest trees, on her way to report this treachery to the king.